"No!"
Clone Fulgrim's body fell from midair. Magnus's hasty psychic teleportation naturally could not have been very accurate, and the primarchs crashed to the ground from varying heights. Had their physical constitutions not been powerful enough, there might have been casualties.
Fulgrim was covered in ashes left behind by that battle. His incomparably refined, flawless face had also been cut by metal fragments hidden in the ash, pure blood dripping from the wounds.
Yet the Phoenix Lord paid no heed to his injuries. His heart was bleeding madly with pain.
"Rylanor..."
"Why? Why had we only just reunited? I hadn't even had time to explain that I was different from that fallen one, and then we..."
"Loyalty needs no explanation!"
Just as Clone Fulgrim was drowning in self-reproach and grief over Rylanor's heroic sacrifice, Leman Russ suddenly lunged at him, grabbed Fulgrim by the shoulder guard, and lifted him over his head.
His face was full of impatience and exasperation. How could this Fulgrim be so sentimental?
"Any declaration made in words is pale and powerless, Fulgrim. Do you still not understand that?"
"No matter what you say now, no matter how you use that silver tongue of yours to find excuses for your original's betrayal and corruption, it means nothing!"
"If you truly want Rylanor to see how you are different, then don't explain it to him. Prove it to him with your blade, your blood, and your loyalty!"
"We're standing on the battlefield of Isstvan III, damn it! That demon Fulgrim is right beneath us. The virus bomb might not have killed him, understand?"
"We don't have time to waste, to mourn, or to regret! If you keep dragging your feet like a woman, I'll chop your head off right now and kick it around like a ball!"